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1.) What kind of music do you like? Why?
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a man once came and put his knees into my ribs, sand-spreading the harp strings and cobwebs and dog-chewed curves until a crack and secret
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The fish in the fishbowl and the bird in the cage
Imprisonment of the untamed, the irony of her room
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they came for the winter girl, sockets pinned no longer molded-green berries or ice
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she opened the fever of her mouth
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she was dove pale
the last glass of champagne at the bar
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audience, the stage, this tatter of fog- sir, the breathing is chased, clutching, haunted
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this is the hour, the freight train moment of sleep hauling in weather worn luggage and
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blushing the blot of shy relish and harbored glory
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the seagulls, spinning-tops, chimed
stamping empire summits
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I tried to collect the wisdom and half-answered remarks, the litter near tin garbage cans:
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At times, his chin would butterfly her hip Manes littered on celestial pillows
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the sky spoke in a language of metal wind chimes and spoons clattering in a porcelain sink
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I'm the asylum's linoleum floors and all the holed rags the patients have wasted themselves on, trying to clean the breached moon craters t
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all the women and girls took subtle, cunning enjoyment in the theater of twisting stomach muscles: they preached on the grace of taffeta an
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We watched the billboards bloom without you There was glass on the highways
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the heights were only cliff edges
limits braided, branded, into the color of my wrist
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Representatives only accomplish two things: using their gilded fists to shovel money between their throat and stomach, and constructing fragile bubbles meant to detonate.
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I believe in the existence of wallflowers
Looks cast down by umbrella lids
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the sentences, deer spoken and smelling of peppermint, were like heated water bottle women: peach chests and jeweled, glitter hued wrists, their arms clinging to tired husbands checking the watches on their vests, and all the
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She was the arch in Chinese lanterns The flames edged with rubies
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It was as if my skeleton was rolled Marrow and joints wrapped around a cardboard center
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This is nothing but a spurting, thumping
draft of make believe
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My body, a set of cyan and fuchsia vibrations, buzzed in atomic fits, the drone of lasers and foreign saucers. Hair drenched in exploding
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An army of black scarves came pouring, gusting
The flapping arms engulfing my forehead, cheeks, and chin
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The bruised clouds circled,
Animals snarling, hissing vertical fur,
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My nails, once panther-like and sturdy,
Have broken down to the fringe
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We were dressed in shades of autumn and blackberries, our manes shivering and crinkling in the turbulent April winds. My palms were foggy
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